


Private Collection

by Tilltheendwilliwrite



Series: Tony Stark One Shots and Reader Inserts [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Sex Toys, Smexy, hot but not smut, тэг заменён на Don't copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 09:13:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17056979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tilltheendwilliwrite/pseuds/Tilltheendwilliwrite
Summary: Anonymous asked: Challenge time again! A readerXTony Stark one shot. You just know the billionaire techie has some quite naughty streaks in him that combined with his tinkering he very well could use his inventions to some rather fun means. Do you accept the challenge? 😉





	Private Collection

## A Tony Stark x Reader Request Fic

* * *

“I hate you _so much_ right now,” you said to Tony Stark, glaring at the playboy, billionaire, genius, _dickhead_ who’d caused your current predicament.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes while continuing to work at finding a solution to said problem. “You know this is half your fault.”

“My fault? How is this _my_ fault!” you shrieked, pleased when he flinched.

“I said _half_ your fault, and if you hadn’t startled me, I wouldn’t have banged the table, sending that beaker flying into the air and all over you.”

“You’re Iron Man, _the_ Iron Man. Me walking up and saying _hey Tony_ should not have you screaming like a girl and _throwing stuff_!”

“I did not _throw it_. I bumped the table,” he huffed.

“You threw it.”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not, did not!”

“How old are you, six?” you grumbled, mentally adding _did too, did too_ and sticking your tongue out at him when he turned his back to you.

You’d come in to see what he was working on so intently, hunched over and tinkering like normal, only to scare him handily, causing him to launch the beaker at his elbow your direction. It exploded all over you, covering you in sticky, nasty, gooey webbing.

Tony had, apparently, been working on developing a new type of web fluid for Peter, something stronger with a longer shelf life, meaning you were now stuck to both wall and floor while Tony mixed substance after substance to try and get you free. He was having very little luck, and you were now regretting the desire to know more about Spider-Man’s web fluid.

Thankfully, he had avoided your face, but your entire torso down your right leg was encased in the icky mess, an icky mess which was causing your skin to tingle.

“Any cases where someone has been allergic to this stuff?”

“Why?” Tony asked, turning to frown at you, causing his brows to lower and crinkle together in a manner far too adorable for a scowl. He may be fifteen-years your senior, but he was still an attractive man, one who, unfortunately, knew it.

“I feel all tingly,” you said, realizing your mistake when he smirked an amused grin.

“Oh really? Do tell.”

Rolling your eyes, you let your head fall back against the wall. “You’re such a child.”

“Am not.”

“Are too!” you bit out, exasperated. “Ugh, this sucks,” you huffed, well and truly done with the whole situation.

Sauntering back with a new beaker in his hand, Tony cocked a brow as he brushed his latest concoction over a portion of the webbing near your hand. “You’ve been far bitchier than this really warrants. You missing a hot date or something?”

Fixing him with a steely glare you gave a sharp jerk of your head. “If you _must_ know, yes!”

“With?”

You frowned at him. The petulant pout which appeared, one you were familiar with after all these weeks of working with him, knowing it meant he was sulking, confused you. Why would it matter to him if you had a date?

“Calvin, he’s-”

“That’s who you’re going out with?” he scoffed, interrupting you. “You should be thanking me for saving you from that disaster waiting to happen.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Calvin,” you protested. Truthfully you found the man frightfully dull, but he’d been asking you for weeks - hounding you really - and you’d caved in a weak moment. “What time is it anyway?”

“Six-forty-five. Why?”

“I should call him, explain why I can’t make it.”

“FRIDAY,” he called out.

“Yes, boss?”

“Inform _Calvin_ in risk management (Y/N) has decided to spend the evening with yours truly instead.”

“Tony!” you barked, horrified. “Don’t you dare, FRIDAY!”

“Message sent.”

“Damn it, Tony!”

“What? You look me in the eyes and tell me you’d prefer to be bored to tears with him than to stay and play with me.”

Glaring at him, you shook your head. “ _This_ is not playing. Playing involves us _both_ having fun. This is not my idea of fun.”

“Party pooper,” he snorted.

“Fun includes toys,” you muttered.

“I have toys.”

“Of course you do. I’ve seen them in glaring red and gold.” Your smirk fell away when he lifted his gaze back to yours.

His brown eyes seemed darker all of a sudden. “I’m talking the _private_ collection.”

The brush in his hand hit skin, and you jolted. “Oh! It worked.”

“Hm, so it did.” He put the brush back in the beaker and set it on the table.

“Tony? What are you doing? Let me out.”

“What time is your date?” he asked.

“Seven, why?”

“I’ll be back at seven-thirty.” With that he walked out, leaving you gaping after him.

“Stark you _bastard_! Get back here!”

***

By the time seven-thirty rolled around you were so far beyond livid you had planned and discarded twenty different ways you could kill his Highness, the Asshole Stark, gradually getting more inventive with each subsequent murder. You were hungry, tired, sore, and were so, _so_ filing a complaint with HR once you were free.

He dared to be whistling when he returned.

The prick.

“How we doing?” he smirked as he sauntered in, carrying a small duffle bag.

“Anthony Edward Stark, if you do not get me down from here in the next ten minutes, not only will I inform Captain Rogers of this _entire_ debacle, but I will also tell _Natasha_ ,” you hissed voice low and deadly calm.

His smug look stayed firm right up until you said Natasha’s name, then fear had filled his eyes and bleached his face white. “Now, hold on just a second. No need to get Natasha involved.” He was quick back to the beaker.

“I should,” you pouted, thoroughly put out. “You could have let me out half an hour ago. I could have made my date.”

A scowl darkened his face. “Why bother? You’d just be bored out of your mind, likely get sick, and spend the night wishing you’d never said yes.”

While you agreed with the possibility of being bored, you frowned at his implication that Calvin would make you sick. “Why would I get sick?”

With the brush in his hand, he began to paint the fluid on the massive gobs of webbing again. “He’s notoriously predictable. Takes all his dates to the Thai place down the block. You’ve got that… peanut thing.”

That _peanut thing_ was a rather unpleasant allergic reaction. While you didn’t go into full anaphylaxis, you did swell up like a hippo, ending up covered in highly uncomfortable hives. “You… know about that?” It shocked you as you didn’t think he paid that much attention.

He snorted, glancing at you with eyes full of censure. “How long have you worked in my lab? You think I don’t notice you never order from the Thai place, or how you disappear when we did to eat by yourself in the café across the street? Or the one time Pete had that open bag of peanuts and you recoiled like it was a snake?”

“I… didn’t think you would notice… or care.”

A look of hurt flashed across his face before it disappeared behind shuttered eyes. “Contrary to popular belief I do _care_ about… some people,” he quipped. “It’s why we don’t order from there anymore.”

Your arm to the elbow was free, and you turned your wrist to gently grasp his forearm. “Tony… thank you.”

“Well, don’t need you checking out at your desk cause you’re high on allergy meds again.”

“It was one time!” you huffed.

“You were drooling on my report.”

“I did not drool.” A smile twitched your lips.

An answering one pulled at his. “Plus, come on, Calvin? _Calvin_? Whatever possessed you to date that dullard?”

Biting your lip, trying not to laugh, you waved your hand in a dismissive gesture. “He was persistent. I got tired of making up excuses as to why I couldn’t go out with him.”

“Is that all it takes? A guy pesters you until you say yes?”

“He just kept _asking,_ and I felt bad,” you sighed. Add in being sexually deprived and working with your hot boss, and you’d been an easy mark.

He snickered, painting the goo on your shoulder. “Go out with me.”

You snorted out a laugh practically in his face. “No.”

“Why not?” he huffed.

“You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Still, no.”

“ _Why_?” he whined, shifting to your other arm.

“Uh, you’re my boss, you’re an overgrown child, you’re annoying, like _all the time_ , and you glued me to the wall!” you said, rolling your eyes.

“I am not a child, I’m charming as hell - ask anyone - who cares if I’m your boss, and I’m in the process of _un_ gluing you from the wall.” He gave you his _I’m adorable and so handsome_ playboy smile.

Biting your cheek to keep from laughing you shook your head. “Still, no.”

“Oh, come on! I’ll take you to Paris for breakfast. We’ll eat fresh croissants and watch the sunrise over the city.”

“No,” you smirked.

He was kind of charming when he wasn’t a doofus.

“I could take you dancing?”

“I can’t dance.”

“Dinner?”

“No.”

“Lunch?”

“Nope.”

“Brunch?”

“Nada.”

“Coffee?”

“Sure.”

“Really?” His face lit up.

“No!” you laughed causing him to shake the end of the brush at you.

“I just about called you easy,” he teased.

“Hey! I was planning your murder before your return, don’t make me follow through,” you pouted, face grumpy.

He chuckled, focusing on his task for a few minutes until he’d freed your other arm. “You know… _Calvin_ isn’t going to give up that easily.”

“I know. I should just say _no_ , but he gives me this face and I just, ugh!” You threw up your hands as far as the goo on your torso would let you.

“There’s always another option.” His eyes had the deep, dark heat of earlier.

The look dried your mouth, making you swallow before asking, “What option?”

He put the brush back in the beaker, setting it on the floor. His hands landed to either side of your head and would have caged you against the wall if you weren’t already stuck to it. Dark eyes drifted down, held on your lips.

You licked yours in response, feeling warmth build in your abdomen with the look.

Groaning softly, he leaned in, hesitating before his lips touched yours. “(Y/N), if you don’t want this…”

“I do,” you breathed out. God how you wanted it. For weeks now, every time he’d give you that cocky, sideways grin you’d wanted to climb him like a jungle gym.

He was sarcastic and could be moody as hell. He was a perfectionist, and sometimes he was snide, but the man was committed, hardworking, and far more observant than you’d given him credit for.

“Good, I wasn’t about to stop,” he said with a sly smirk.

Sealing his mouth to yours, you moaned for _damn_ , the man knew what to do with his tongue. His kiss was smooth but demanding, asking for your submission and rewarding you for it with quick nips and licks when you gave in. His teeth in your lower lip had a direct line to your breasts, apparently, for they tingled and swelled, grew heavy and ached to be touched.

When he pulled slowly back, lips clinging to yours as he did so, he sighed softly. “Wanted to do that for a while.”

“Me too,” you admitted.

“Not going to call me a dirty old man? I’m shocked,” he chuckled, pressing a hand to his heart dramatically.

“Isn’t the saying, you’re only as old as you feel?” You traced your hands over his chest. “You’re feeling pretty spry for an old guy.”

“I prefer _experienced,_ gorgeous.”

The rumble in his chest and the heat in his eyes had answering heat rippling through you to clench around your womb. “Tony get me out of this.”

“Then will you agree to go out with me?” he asked his smug showing again.

Closing your fist in his shirt, you pulled him closer. “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

Giving him a sultry look, you smiled. “Show me your _private_ collection.”

Lust filled his features. “Well, I did go home for it. It seems only fair.”

Arching a brow, you narrowed your eyes. “Anthony Edward Stark, did you set me up?”

He gave a small shrug. “Never thought you’d actually say yes to that dweeb. I had to do something drastic.”

“You could have just asked me out yourself, you know,” you grumbled.

“And get turned down like No-Risk-Ronnie? I don’t think so.”

“His name is Calvin.”

“ _Calvin,”_ he mimicked. “Who cares?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You really are a child.”

He upended the beaker over the rest of the webbing, causing it to dissolve in seconds. “Am not,” he grumbled.

Mouth falling open, you gaped at the pile of webbing vanishing like wet cotton candy. “Really!?”

He only grinned, grabbed your hand and the duffle, and led you to the far corner of the lab.

“Where are we going?” You asked in confusion, the door the other direction.

“What kind of mad scientist would I be without a secret lair?” His eyes twinkled with laughter when he pushed a seemingly harmless button, revealing a doorway behind it.

The lights flickered on as he tugged you inside, the panel sliding quickly shut behind you. “You’re not planning on killing me and taking my body out in pieces like your own twisted game of murder house, right?”

He chuckled, unoffended, and drew you into a room with a large bed and private bath. “Sometimes it’s easier just to sleep in the lab.”

“Convenient.”

“That it is,” he drew you to sit on the bed and dropped the duffle beside you, remaining silent while his stare challenged you to open his bag of tricks.

Rising to said challenge, you tugged open the zipper. Everything within it was, again, red and gold, and you snickered softly. “Least your toys are consistent.”

He only continued to watch you, arms crossed over his chest.

Reaching inside, you pulled out what looked like a high tech version of handcuffs.

“Heavy duty magnets,” he said. “You won’t be getting out of those once you’re in them.”

Nodding, you stuck your hand back in the back, but the next item you pulled from it nearly made you snort with laughter. “Really? An Iron Man vibrator?”

“Designed that myself.” Grinning broadly, he took it from you, flicked a button on the side which set it humming, and bent to loom over you, laying it against your clothed lower abdomen.

Gasping in shock and appreciation, you shifted to spread your legs.

“Why don’t I show you how Tony Stark plays with his toys. Then I’ll show you what it’s like to have Iron Man between your legs.”

It was the corniest thing anyone had ever said to you, but with what was likely the world’s greatest vibe humming between your thighs, you could do little more than nod frantically.

***

Sometime later, after exhausting his bag of toys, Tony collapsed to the bed at your side, a sweaty, panting mess. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, riding the waves of post-coital bliss. “Iron Man is amazing. You’re not half bad either,” you teased.

“I beg your pardon! You screamed my name far more times than you screamed his,” he said, affronted.

“You do realize you’re both the same person?”

“Yes,” he pouted.

“Child,” you murmured, rolling to drape yourself over his chest, running your fingertips over his scar.

“So,” you smirked, enjoying soft and relaxed, happy Tony. “You ever had sex with your suit on?”

He grinned, chuckled, and pulled you closer. “Why don’t I show you… _after_ breakfast in Paris.”

**_-The End-_ **


End file.
